Man With the Black Beard
by Michael2
Summary: Based on Stephen King's the Langoliers. An airline passenger wakes up on a deserted Boeing 767 passenger jet.


I woke up, my head screaming.

I stumbled on the floor before pulling myself up. I felt wetness on my lip; it was a nose bleed.

Looking around, I saw that it was dark, not a single light was on. Trying to see with what little light I could, I saw that I was in a plane, one of the big ones. There was no noise; the plane was on the ground.

Walking through the cabin, I also noticed everyone was gone. Why wasn't I woken up? Did everyone else get off? I called out, but no one was here.

Sitting down at one of the seats, I noticed that there was a bag on the floor. I went to the other seats, and there was stuff left behind like bags and wallets and watches and even dentures. Whatever the hell happened, these people must have left in a hurry, to leave their bags and shit here.

I looked through the window; it was dark outside, there was no lights on. Where the fuck was I? Was there a blackout? I tried to listen, there was this dim humming sound, and that was it.

My last clear memory was at some bar in Hollywood. I flew from Boston to visit friends, and I was going back to Boston that night. I got myself so drunk, I barely remembered the cab ride to the airport, let alone boarding the plane. I think I fell asleep before being seated. I had images during my dream, some pleasant, some disturbing.

My head was still pounding, like jackhammers on a sidewalk. I figured as soon as I felt better, I could find out where I was. My head, it hurt too much.

And then I saw something outside. There were these colored lights flashing outside, illuminating the planes and the buildings. These lights seemed to coincide with the pounding in my head.

Then there was this bright flash and this intense pain that I screamed out, though there was no one inside to hear me. I looked outside, and there were lights on. I could see a luggage train moving. In the distance was this circular building that I recognized when I first arrived in L.A.

I was still in L.A.

I got angry for a moment, before another headache started. Whyt was I left behind? If the airline moved the passengers to another plane, why was I left here? And why were the passengers moved to another plane? Was it because of that blackout?

I sat down in first class for a while. Maybe someone from the airline will come to get me.

Then the door opened, and two cops came in, shining their flashlights into my face.

"Where is everyone?" I asked them. "Am I on the wrong plane?"

"You," asked the cop. "How did you get here?"

"I boarded this flight- I think it was 29 - in L.A. It was headed for Boston. I fell asleep, and when I woke up everyone was gone. Are we still in L.A.?"

"Yup."

The other cop picked up a purse. "What's this?" he asked.

"A purse," I said. "I think when I was asleep, the other passengers were moved to another plane."

"What was your flight and destination?"

"Twenty-nine, I think. Boston. I was returning home after visiting some friends."

The cop spoke into his radio. "Amercian Pride 29 to Boston left over four hours ago."

"Shit!" I yelled. "Why the fuck didn't they wake me up! How could they leave me behind! I want to speak with the airline agent right now!"

I walked to the open door; there was this stairway leading to the ground. Police cars were parked near the plane, their lights flashing. More cops walked into the plane, pushing past me and looking around inside.

Then this cop with stripes on his sleeves spoke to me.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"On their way to Boston, I guess," I said. "I didn't see them get off the plane; I was asleep."

"This plane just happens to have the same tail number as the one that was to be Flight 29," said the cop. "Flight 29 left four hours ago, and the airline confirmed that this is the same plane the passengers boarded."

"Of course it is," I said. "I'm here. Where did the others go?"

"You tell me."

"How would I know?"

"This was the plane that took off for Boston. There was no record of any passengers leaving this plane to transfer to another plane. So what happened to the others. Did you fly this plane back here?"

"Do I look like a fucking pilot?"

"Here's what I see," said the cop. "This plane flies off for Boston, and then lands somewhere where the passengers and crew were taken, and then lands back here without notifying the tower. And behold, you are the only one on this airplane."

"Maybe they were dropped off in Boston," I said.

"Oh please. No way this plane could have flown to Boston and back in only four hours; this isn't the fucking Concorde. And we contacted Logan Airport, Flight 29 hasn't even arrived there yet."

"I was asleep!" I protested.

"You'd better come to the station."

Then two cops grabbed my arms and escorted me down the stairs. 


End file.
